


bonding activities

by sfxlled



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, correction there is a plot and that plot is called blue lions having fun and loving each other, me bangin pots and pans rarepairs rarepairs come get your rarepairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfxlled/pseuds/sfxlled
Summary: The lions get friendly with each other.(short, smutty ficlets ft. the canon blue lions students, set post-timeskip (specifically post chapter 17), every pairing covered, byleth and moresomes excluded. pairing in the chapter name, individual tags in the chapter notes.)minimal spoilers, but if there are then they’ll be noted pre-chapter.





	1. felix/annette

**Author's Note:**

> chapter log:  
1\. felix/annette  
2\. ashe/dimitri  
3\. mercedes/ingrid  
4\. dedue/sylvain  
5\. felix/dimitri  
6\. ashe/ingrid  
7\. dedue/annette  
8\. sylvain/mercedes  
9\. ashe/felix  
10\. annette/mercedes  
11\. dimitri/sylvain  
12\. ingrid/dedue (currently writing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s just het fingering. is this even fingering actually

She is the one who he’s most gentle with. Touches that can be described more as caresses, kisses that don’t involve teeth. When he leans into her, and tilts his head to meet her lips, Annette closes her eyes.

Calloused fingers tug at the edges of her blouse, working the fabric up and over her, and Annette pushes Felix away to do the job herself. Felix snorts, sitting back on his heels.

“What, don’t trust me with your clothes?” he snarks casually, raising an eyebrow. Felix may be a battle maniac, running headfirst into a swarm of enemies to beat on them with his fists, but he is a noble still, and even a simple gesture such as that manages to look elegant.

“It’s faster if I do it myself,” Annette replies, rolling her eyes. And perhaps she is a noble as well, but grace has never been one of her selling points. As Felix can personally attest to, though Annette cringes just thinking about it.

“Hmph.”

“Don’t get grouchy on me now,” says Annette, as she gets her clothes over her head, and off her body. Flings it somewhere in the corner of her room, and directs her attention back to Felix, still kneeling over her bare body laying on her bed. “We haven’t even gotten started yet.”

“That’s the problem,” is Felix’s rebuttal, and she can’t find it in herself to disagree. So she doesn’t talk, chooses instead to speak with her actions; she pulls Felix down to her level with a hand at the back of his neck. He goes down easy.

“Good boy,” murmurs Annette, and she can feel his tremble. “C’mon.”

The order goes unspoken, but Felix follows it anyway. His hand trails down, and down, until it reaches its destination. And Annette groans, eyes falling shut and head tipping back against her pillow. Her hips rock up to meet him, his fingers lightly teasing her clit as he kisses down her neck.

“Good enough?” Felix smirks against her collarbone, and Annette swats the back of his head blindly.

“Shush, you,” she croaks, and shivers at the huff of laughter tickling her skin. Felix’s fingers press down hard, and Annette tosses her head back with a loud moan. Felix laughs, again, and the swat at him is far weaker this time, Annette far too caught up in pleasure.

With his free hand, Felix tips her head up, pulling her into a kiss. Annette goes with it, eyelids slipping shut as she groans into his mouth. She bucks up, one, two, and Felix’s fingers trail down further, teasing at her entrance.

They rub gently around her slick hole, and Annette whines as she pulls away from Felix’s lips. She glares, but Felix’s smirk doesn’t send any sign of being affected.

“Just do it already!” she tells him, and is mildly affronted when Felix laughs.

“Don’t be so impatient,” he says. Annette shoots him a deadpan stare.

“Like you’re one to talk.”

Felix huffs. But he does start pressing in, slightly, so Annette still counts it as a win for her. She rocks her hips, lets out a stuttering breath as a finger enters her. Felix crooks it, rubbing it hard against her walls, moving, searching for-

“Ah!” The sound escapes Annette involuntarily. Felix grins, triumphant, but Annette doesn’t bother smacking him again, just rolls her hips and moans loudly. Felix does it again, and again, nudging against that one spot, the part of her that sends pleasure coursing up Annette’s spine. “Fuck, yes, Felix...”

Now would be the perfect time for Felix to tease her, about the noises she’s making, about the words she’s using, but it seems that even he is having trouble finding his speech, eyes fixed on her moving body and hand working inside of her. He adds another finger, brings his other hand down to play with her clit, and it doesn’t take much longer before Annette gasps her completion, hips jerking and hole clenching around Felix.

She collapses back on the bed, panting, as he slips out of her. When she opens her eyes that she hadn’t even realised shut, Felix is looking down at her, fondness playing at the edge of his cocky smirk.

“My turn now?” he asks, and Annette manages a weak snort.

“Your turn now,” she agrees, and pulls him down.


	2. ashe/dimitri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some good ol’ bjs

No matter what state he’s been reduced to, no matter how long it’s been, Dimitri will always be Ashe’s lord. Perhaps that’s why it always ends up like this; Ashe on his knees, Dimitri sitting on the bed, with the former mouthing at the latter’s thighs.

“Will there ever come I time where I’m the one pleasing you?” Dimitri mutters, his fingers tangling themselves in gray strands. It’s meant to be rhetorical, Ashe thinks, but he’s never been one to leave things be.

“I enjoy this,” he responds, gazing up at the prince, tousled hair falling over his eyes and obscuring his sight. It doesn’t block him from seeing Dimitri gaze down at him, fondness and wonder alike in his expression, though. Ashe smiles. “There’s no need to worry, truly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” is Dimitri’s somewhat exasperated response, but any further words are cut off by a moan as Ashe turns his attentions to his member. “Ah- Ashe-“

Ashe hums, focusing on the sight before him. Dimitri’s cock, already stiff and waiting, and Ashe needs no better invitation than that.

Dimitri groans loudly, hands tightening their hold, as Ashe starts his ministrations. He licks a stripe up the shaft, as bow calloused hands come up to wrap around the base. As Ashe moves, he chances a glance up at Dimitri.

The prince’s pale face is flushed, long hair in disarray. His lone eye flutters, as Ashe sucks him in, teasing the tip with his tongue. It’s a sight to behold, Ashe thinks, as Dimitri’s mouth opens, stifled noises making their way out of him.

Ashe pulls off. “No need to keep those sounds to yourself, Your Highness.”

Dimitri’s face, if it’s even possible, gets redder.

“Ashe...” he says weakly, but it’s cut off once more by a gasp as Ashe takes him back in. He goes deeper, this time, Dimitri’s hardness filling his mouth as he works what doesn’t fit with his hands. Dimitri gets louder as Ashe suckles on him, bobbing his head, a hand moving down to lightly fondle Dimitri’s balls.

At that, Dimitri gasps and yanks on Ashe’s hair. His cock hits the back of Ashe’s throat, and Ashe gags with a whine.

“Shit- sorry-“ Dimitri whispers, hushed and hissed, but Ashe just moans in reply, sucking harder. His hips push forward, rutting his own neglected cock against the side of the bed. His free hand slips down, wrapping around himself and stroking.

Ashe wonders just what kind of sight he must make; on his knees, his mouth filled with cock, hollowed cheeks and teary eyes. One hand fondling Dimitri’s balls, the other stroking himself. Dimitri must think it a good one, given by the wrecked groan he lets out when he looks down at Ashe.

“Fuck, _Ashe...” _he whimpers, his hips jerking into Ashe’s mouth. “Close...”

Ashe closes his eyes, and hums in response. Relaxes his throat, widens his mouth, and proceeds to take Dimitri down to the base.

His reaction is immediate. Dimitri spasms, bucks his hips with a cut off yell, and releases right down Ashe’s throat. Salty bitterness fills Ashe’s mouth, some spilling out down his lips, but Ashe does his best to swallow the rest of it. Dimitri’s cock, now soft, slips out from between his puffy red lips.

Ashe looks up, expression dazed, cum leaking from the corner of his mouth, with a hand still wrapped around his own member. A beat passes, and then he’s being pulled up, Dimitri’s hand gripping his bicep, insistently tugging him into a deep kiss.

Ashe whines into Dimitri, rolling into his own hand as Dimitri licks into his mouth. When the prince’s hand joins him, rough callouses from wielding his lance creating delicious friction, Ashe makes an embarrassing noise stifled by Dimitri’s own tongue, and cums right there.

They pull apart, both panting hard. Ashe falls sideways onto the prince’s bed, inadvertantly staining the sheets with the white painted over his torso.

“Ah, sorry...”

Dimitri just huffs in amusement, flopping down beside him. He opens his mouth to respond, perhaps to ease Ashe, perhaps to tease him, but he’s cut off by a loud bang on the wall from the other room.

“Yeah, get it!” Sylvain’s voice is muffled, yet his words are still all too clear. And so is the ensuing yelp, presumably from Ingrid’s throttling in response.

Dimitri looks at Ashe. Ashe looks at Dimitri.

Then they burst out in embarrassed laughter, red overtaking their features and sheepish grins gracing their lips.


	3. mercedes/ingrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cunnilingus. also some riding face ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

For someone so devout and religious, Mercedes is certainly eager to delve into things.

“Ngh!” Ingrid squeaks, knuckles white on her bedsheets as she pants harshly. Mercedes smiles at her, from where she’s lying between Ingrid’s spread legs.

“Good?” she asks casually, as if she hadn’t just licked into Ingrid, until Ingrid was trembling and on the verge of losing all composure. Ingrid lets out a breathless giggle, grinning down at the other woman.

“Good,” Ingrid agrees, and Mercedes beams.

“I’m so glad,” she says, and proceeds to demonstrate this by moving a hand to Ingrid’s breasts. It’s a nice way to show it, Ingrid thinks dazedly, before any and all thoughts fly out her mind, as Mercedes leans back down to lap at her clit.

Fingers worn by gripping a staff tease at her nipples, pinching them and lightly grazing them with fingernails. Ingrid shudders, her breathing uneven, as Mercedes services her.

She rocks her hips down, pushing further into Mercedes’s face, her moans getting louder with lick Mercedes gives her, when all of it is suddenly gone. Mercedes pushes herself up, hovering over Ingrid. Ingrid involuntarily whines at the loss of pleasure, then flushes beet red at Mercedes’s soft laughter.

“Why...” Ingrid trails off, her flush only spreading as Mercedes continues to titter. It’s not mocking, by any means, Mercedes would never, but embarrassment at her own loss of control runs hot through Ingrid.

“Oh, don’t look so upset, dear,” Mercedes cooes, and leans over Ingrid. Arms trapping Ingrid between them, Mercedes’s sweet face hovering over Ingrid’s own, and this time, the red in Ingrid’s face is for an entirely different reason. “I simply didn’t want our fun to end so soon.”

Ingrid can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face, helpless in the face of Mercedes’s...well, everything.

“Warn me next time,” she says, and Mercedes just laughs again.

“Oh, but your reaction was just so cute!” she says, before leaning down and cutting off any reply with her own lips. Ingrid’s eyes fall shut, as she relaxes into the kiss. It’s a soft, lazy one, with slow, exploratory licks into each other’s mouths and a gentle rhythm.

Ingrid gasps into it, as Mercedes’s hands return to her chest, and resume their prior ministrations. Her eyelids flutter, and her hips roll up; her hands come up to grasp at Mercedes’s waist.

Mercedes hums, and aligns her own crotch with Ingrid. Slick meets slick, and if Ingrid moves just so- Mercedes groans into her mouth, as Ingrid slides their clits against each other.

“Oh, Ingrid,” Mercedes murmurs, breathless. Their bodies rock together, Mercedes pressing down on Ingrid insistently, as Ingrid gasps and whimpers. Fingers continue tugging at Ingrid’s nipples, and it’s all too soon before Ingrid starts coming close to the edge, once more.

“Mercedes- _Mercedes_-” she babbles like a chant, hips rutting faster, moving harder. Pleasure builds up once again, white hot sparks fly up her spine, and Ingrid closes her eyes-

Mercedes moves away, again, and Ingrid’s eyes fly back open, a pathetic whine making its way out of her mouth as she fruitlessly humps the air. Through blurry vision, Ingrid watches Mercedes move back down, retaking her original position between Ingrid’s thighs, and it’s then that her tongue returns to Ingrid’s wetness.

It’s like an arrow shot straight at her, hitting bullseye just when she least expected it.

“Shit,” Ingrid groans, her head falling back and mind going blank. Mercedes sucks on her clit, and Ingrid claps a hand over her mouth to stifle all the far too embarrassing sounds she’s making. Her hips buck down, practically riding Mercedes’s face, one, two, and she lets out a long, loud moan as she finally reaches her climax.

Her release gushes out from her, Ingrid shivering at the sensation of Mercedes lapping it all up. Her pussy throbs at the continued stimulation, oversensitive, and Ingrid whimpers. She trembles, as Mercedes pulls off of her.

“Mercedes,” her voice shakes, overwhelmed. Mercedes pulls herself up.

“Do me a favor?” The woman asks, so sweetly, and Ingrid just nods, helpless once again in the face of her. With that, Mercedes drags her body up and over, her own crotch hovering over Ingrid’s face, before she lowers herself, settling herself on Ingrid.

Blindly, Ingrid opens her mouth and licks a stripe up Mercedes’s pussy. She’s rewarded with a moan, and a roll of Mercedes’s hips downwards. Continued lapping mostly gets her the same reaction, and they settle into a rhythm; Ingrid pressing her tongue into Mercedes, and Mercedes humping down on Ingrid’s face.

It doesn’t take long before Mercedes cums with a gasp, and this time, Ingrid’s the one swallowing her release. Mercedes moves off, and falls to her side with a groan; similarly exhausted, Ingrid turns and throws an arm over her.

They relax in peace for a beat, before Mercedes opens her mouth.

“We should do that again,” she says, and Ingrid huffs in amusement against her neck.

“Later,” she says. “Promise.”


	4. dedue/sylvain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just bros being bros, fucking and stuff. slight dirty talk, and “discussion” of sex acts with other partners (all parties consenting)
> 
> sylvain’s inner monologue gets slightly cracky at times, but that’s how it is.

“Dedue, my Dedude,” Sylvain says, a plaintive whine in his voice. “Won’t you just hurry up and get on with it?”

“...Do not call me that again,” is Dedue’s deadpan response. Calm and stoic, even while coating his fingers in lube. It’s a trait Sylvain’s almost envious of, really.

“What, Dedude?” Sylvain repeats, grinning. This time, Dedue shoots him an exasperated look. “Aw, c’mon, it’s great!”

“I beg to differ,” Dedue replies flatly. “And unless you want to take care of your problem yourself, I’d advise you to agree with me.”

Sylvain whistles.

“Harsh, man,” he says, and winks. “But y’know, if I were to go, who’d take care of _your_ problem?”

“Ashe is next door.”

“...Ouch, cold,” Sylvain winces. “But, fair enough. No more Dedude. That I promise.”

Dedue huffs, evidently done with Sylvain’s shit. Which, honestly, fair. Sylvain gets done with Sylvain’s shit, sometimes. It’s a normal thing. So Sylvain keeps his mouth shut, and simply angles his hips up for easy access.

Dedue takes the unspoken invitation with little fanfare. His lubed fingers are cold, nudging against Sylvain’s entrance, and Sylvain twitches at the feeling. He sucks in a breath when one actually breaches him, sliding in slowly but steadily.

“Haaah, shit,” Sylvain whispers, panting as he lightly rocks his hips, trying to get used to the feeling. “Sorry, been a while.”

“Hm,” Dedue blinks, looking up at Sylvain’s face. “Have you not been entertaining the others?”

Sylvain huffs out a laugh, though it’s cut off by a shuddering sigh as Dedue twists inside him. “M-Man, you make me sound like cheap toy to be passed around at parties.”

“Apologies.”

“Nah, ‘s cool. Goddess knows Ingrid treats me like one anywa_ays_,” Sylvain cuts off with a drawn out groan as Dedue adds another finger. The stretch stings, but it stings _good_, and Sylvain rocks his hips down in an unspoken plea for _more, more_.

Dedue obliges, ever obedient. Sylvain moans loudly as the man scissors his fingers, spreading Sylvain wide open.

“B-Big man, huh,” Sylvain pants, gaze predictably sliding down to the real prize of the night. “C’mon, I can take it.”

Dedue levels him a flat, unimpressed look.

“C’mon,” Sylvain repeats, whining as he thrusts his hips down. He angles a shameless, pleading pout up at Dedue. Dedue sighs.

“Perhaps if you don’t want others to speak of you like some “cheap toy”, it’d do you well to stop acting like it.”

“Woah, is that dirty talk I’m hearing?” Sylvain gasps in faux shock. “Dedue! ...Albeit, it’s definitely the most formal dirty talk I’ve ever received. Don’t worry, we can work on that.”

Sylvain winks, obvious and ostentatious. And it’s at that that Dedue finally chuckles, just a bit. Sylvain grins in triumph, before it’s just as quickly wiped off his face with a crook of Dedue’s fingers. They curl up just right, and a jolt of pleasure abruptly races through Sylvain.

“Ngoh, fuck yes,” he groans, head falling back and eyes squeezing shut. His hips rock down and down, seeking that sensation again. So caught up in the feeling, it’s all too obvious when those fingers retreat and leave him empty.

Sylvain whines at the loss, but he’s placated by the tip of something far thicker and harder nudging at his entrance. He grins, dazedly, wondering just when Dedue found the time to slick up his cock. Maybe when Sylvain was distracted by those wonderous fingers in his ass? Seems probable.

“Finally,” he says, or maybe slurs. Sylvain’s always been one to fall into vices too easily, and this is certainly no exception.

“Impatience begets-“ Dedue starts to speak, but Sylvain cuts him off with a lazy wave of his arm.

“Just,” Sylvain tries to speak. “Just-“ and upon failure, flops his arm around again, in an attempt at a demonstrative gesture. Though, even to himself, Sylvain’d say he resembles a dead fish more than anything. He’s not very good at this sort of thing.

Dedue seems to get the message, anyway. Not that it was a very complicated message, or that there were much other things to be done. But Sylvain digresses. Dedue pushes in, slowly, and Sylvain grunts at the feeling.

Dedue’s cock, much like the rest of him, is big. And while it may not be Sylvain’s first time at the rodeo, or even his first time at _this_ particular rodeo, it’s still been a while. So he pants and gasps, trying to get used to it, while Dedue patiently gives him time to adjust.

When Sylvain nods, weakly, Dedue pushes in further. The stretch burns. Thank the Goddess they have a free day tomorrow. Sylvain shudders to even think of fighting the morning after _this_.

“Goddess,” Sylvain starts to talk, “you could use this as some sort of weapon, you know, just on the battlefield, drop your armor, whip this monster out-“

Sylvain cuts off with a squeak at a particularly hard thrust inside.

“Please,” says Dedue, “shut up.”

“Fucking in silence is so not my thing,” Sylvain tells him. Judging by Dedue’s pinched expression, he knows this. Intimately. (Literally, intimately. Haha, get it? Funny joke, Sylvain knows.)

But Sylvain’s not totally inconsiderate. He casts around for a topic, any topic, to babble on about, before landing on the perfect solution. 

“Say,” Sylvain pants out. “Is this how you treat His Highness as well?”

Dedue’s cock twitches inside him. Bam. Dead on. 

“...Must you bring others into this?” Dedue asks. He sounds exasperated, but Sylvain knows interest when he sees it. So he just grins cockily, and rolls his hips down.

“Just some curiosity,” Sylvain says. “No need to be chaste about it. Tell me.”

Dedue is silent as he rocks his hips, maybe weighing the pros and cons of deigning to entertain Sylvain’s whims. So Sylvain takes the decision out of his hands.

“‘Cause, you know,” he starts talking, and doesn’t stop. “His Highness has a talented tongue if I’ve ever seen one. Felt one, actually. H-he,” Sylvain groans as Dedue angles his hips up, fucking him deeper, but he valiantly soldiers on, “_Goddess-_ he loves getting me all sloppy and wet, you know, trying to make me cum just by fucking me with his tongue, Goddess that _tongue_-“

Sylvain’s speech trails off into incoherent sounds as Dedue rams up, hard, and into that spot that makes him see stars. Drool drips from his open mouth, his hips desparately moving back to meet Dedue’s thrusts, as his own hand reaches down to wrap around his own erection.

“Holy fuck, yes, yes, Dedue, c’mon,” Sylvain babbles, any prior thoughts flying out the window. “Harder, _faster_-“

Through blurry vision, he spies Dedue gazing down at him. And he can’t exactly make it out, but it’s fondness, he thinks, that’s written across his face. Endeared affection, maybe.

“You truly are a slut,” says Dedue, in a way that really has no business being so kind, and Sylvain cums with a whimper. He spasms around Dedue, and that’s the push Dedue needs to spill inside him, painting Sylvain’s insides white with his release.

Sylvain shudders, as Dedue pulls out and flops down beside him. He allows them a few moments of peaceful bliss, before opening his mouth to break the silence.

“So, like,” Sylvain rasps, “are you actually cool with the whole, uh, Dimitri thing? I mean, you seem to be, but like- you know. ‘Cause if you’re not-“

“It was fine,” Dedue interrupts. Sylvain rolls over to face him, pouting.

“Just fine?” he teases, and Dedue sighs, sounding put upon.

“It was not unpleasant,” he allows. Sylvain senses that that’s the best he’s going to get out of the man, so he drops it. He should probably do something about the cum leaking out of him, or even his own release staining his torso, but Goddess, he’s so tired. Sex really takes it out of a man. Maybe if he just closes his eyes for a few moments...

“...His Highness enjoys ordering me to fuck him.”

Sylvain’s eyes fly back open at that, arousal smacking him in the face with a sledgehammer and forcing his poor, spent cock to twitch.

“...Dude, wait a few minutes before continuing that speech. Or you’re seriously gonna kill me.”

A huff of amusement.

“Noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had way too much fun with this one. also, according to my super serious porn calculations, dimitri/sylvain rimming is chapter 12. which might take a while. whoops.


	5. felix/dimitri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> minor SPOILERS for BL post chapter 17 cutscene. nothing is overtly said, but there are implications for a certain death.
> 
> anyway: semi-public, very rough sex. blood ment (felix bites dimitri’s lip until it bleeds, specifically), a bit of painplay, rough BJ, choking. finally, some goddamn kinks in this house.
> 
> also, vv slight emeto mention. it’s just one line of felix thinking about how he doesn’t want dimitri to actually throw up.

It’s the middle of the night, and Felix can’t sleep.

It’s not a rare occurrence, by any means. Nine years, by now, since the incident that stole so many lives, and ruined so many more. Even now, it keeps Felix awake at night.

And it’s certainly not helped by the...event that had happened. It’s been long enough that Felix no longer receives all the unwanted pity that comes with such a loss, yet recent enough to be fresh in Felix’s mind.

At times like this, Felix’s ideal way to cope is to go out to the training grounds, and smash some dummies into the ground. It’s a tried and true method, and Felix’d be damned if he lets anyone get in the way of that.

Not even him. Especially him. Felix narrows his eyes at the bedraggled prince, standing so solemnly in the middle of the field, lance in hand.

Felix could go about this two ways. One: ignore him entirely, and train on his own. Or two... Felix licks his lips, then decides _fuck it._

“Hey,” he calls, a spike of dark glee piercing him as Dimitri startles at his voice. Carefully keeping his voice level, Felix raises his gauntlets. “Spar with me.”

“...Ah,” Dimitri says, after a delayed pause. “Felix.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Me,” he says, then lunges forward with no more preamble.

Dimitri’s always been monstrously strong, but Felix is fast where it counts. He manages to get a solid hit in, another one, before Dimitri’s lance is flashing up and slamming into Felix’s arms.

Blood pumps through Felix’s veins, adrenaline surging, as they begin their mockery of a dance. Now this was one thing that had never changed. Their spar is hard and fast, Dimitri’s lance clashing against Felix’s gauntlets.

Felix is almost disappointed when he sends the lance flying out of Dimitri’s hands, and flings himself bodily into Dimitri. No matter how strong someone may be, it’s hard to brace against an unexpected full-body tackle from a grown man. Dimitri goes down with a solid oof, the air knocked straight out of him.

Felix braces himself on his hands and knees, gasping for breath as he kneels above Dimitri’s prone body. The prince’s matted hair spreads over the dirt ground, face red and eyes holding a wildness to them that comes naturally in the heat of battle.

Felix stares down at the wreck beneath him, and feels his traitorous cock jump.

...Well, it’s not like they haven’t done this before. Everyone fools around with everyone nowadays, and that definitely includes Felix. And Dimitri. And Felix and Dimitri. Together. Really, it’d be more surprising had this _not_ been the conclusion.

...

_Fuck it,_ Felix decides.

“Color,” he growls, grabbing onto the collar of Dimitri’s shirt and thanking all that is holy that they’d both forgone their armor, at this time of night. Dimitri’s breath audibly hitches, his pupils dilating, and Felix lets the wave of smug satisfaction crash over him.

“Green,” Dimitri says after a beat, voice shaky, and Felix needs no more incentive to drag the prince up from the ground, tugging him into a bruising kiss.

Felix bites down, ignoring Dimitri’s yelp, until the metallic taste of iron fills his mouth. It’s then that Felix licks into the other’s mouth, smearing red blood all over both their lips, moving without any regard for Dimitri himself.

Not that His Royal Highness seems to have any regard for himself, anyway, given how he so eagerly presses back into Felix.

Felix’s hands move down, gripping the edge of Dimitri’s shirt and yanking it up. They break apart, and Felix takes a moment to gaze down at the future king of the Kingdom. Dimitri looks dazed, meeting Felix’s stare with wide-eyed wonder. His lips bitten raw, mouth stained with red that slowly trickles down his chin.

_I did this_, thinks Felix viciously. _Me._

The shirt is pulled off and thrown into a corner with little fanfare. Felix’s goes in much the same manner. And Felix is leaning back down, pinning Dimitri’s arms by his sides and straddling his waist, as Felix sinks his teeth into his neck.

Dimitri’s breaths come out shuddering, his hips rocking up to meet Felix’s. Felix hisses at the friction, and delivers a particularly hard bite to Dimitri’s collar. He’s rewarded with a gasp, that devolves into a whimper, when Felix sucks and laps at the forming bruise.

“Felix,” Dimitri moans, and yelps as Felix clenches his fists tightly around his wrists. His nails dig into the prince’s skin, just shy of drawing blood, and Felix revels in the way Dimitri trembles underneath him. The way that Dimitri could choose to throw him off at any time, but doesn’t. Felix pushes himself up, hovering over the prince, and bares bloodstained teeth down at him.

“Oh, is the whore hurting?” he sneers, and Dimitri shudders. “But you-“ nails form red indents, the surrounding skin going pale, “-like it, don’t you?”

Dimitri’s quivering breaths are loud in the silence of the night.

“Answer me,” demands Felix.

“...Y-Yes,” Dimitri mumbles. Then his head falls back, a pained gasp forcing its way out of his lips as Felix starts dragging his nails up his arm, leaving long, red scratches in his wake. 

“Louder.” Felix’s tone brooks no argument. And Dimitri trembles, barely holding himself together with worn threads.

“Yes!” his voice sounds positively wrecked, shaking itself apart just like the rest of him.

It’s a beautiful sound, Felix thinks. Not that he’ll say it, though.

“Good job,” he says, his tone as condescending as humanly possible, but Dimitri jerks his hips into Felix at the praise anyway. Felix almost snorts, but manages to hold himself back.

Felix lifts himself up for a scant few moments, just to shrug his pants off, tossing them and his underwear off to the same vague direction as his shirt. Dimitri’s gaze immediately goes to Felix’s leaking hardness, and he licks his lips, wetting already dried blood.

_Like a starving beast, _thinks Felix. He’s caught between haughty sneering, and unwarranted pride. In the end, he chooses to just ignore it entirely. 

“Come on,” Felix demands, crawling forward and positioning his cock at Dimitri’s mouth. Throughout this movement, Dimitri’s eye tracks it, so obviously gagging for it that Felix could laugh. “You know what to do.”

Dimitri sucks him in far more eagerly than one in his position should. It’s a rush, really; having the crown prince so desperate for your dick, he’d debase himself with no hesitation.

Felix rolls his hips, tossing his head back and groaning at the feeling of Dimitri’s tongue servicing him. He pushes in, and in, Dimitri’s mouth stretching wide to accommodate his length. It makes for a pretty sight; raw and puffy lips moaning around his dick, ragged blond hair dragging in the dirt, a lone eye half-lidded in glazed pleasure. 

Felix stares. Unwittingly, he thinks, _beautiful_, and doesn’t realise he’s said it aloud until Dimitri whines.

And, well.

...

_Fuck it._

Felix takes hold of Dimitri’s dirty, matted hair and yanks. Shoves his dick into the prince’s throat, fucks his mouth through Dimitri’s choking. Not fast or hard enough to make him throw up — the thought alone makes Felix shudder, both from disgust at the thought of vomit on his dick, and the blatant crossing of the line of cruelty that’d be.

Felix doesn’t hate Dimitri. He can admit to that much at least.

It’s just-

Dimitri may be-

Dimitri is-

Felix thinks-

Maybe-

_No_, he thinks, and shuts that line of thought right down. Not the right time, not the right place. And definitely not topics one should be thinking about with their cock shoved straight down said topic’s throat.

Instead, Felix looks down, and tries to wipe everything from his mind. Banishes all those unwanted thoughts, and replaces them with the image of this: Dimitri blinking back tears, Dimitri whimpering like a trained slut, Dimitri so obviously lost in pleasure, Dimitri Dimitri _Dimitri_.

Felix uses his free hand to grasp Dimitri’s. Squeezes it once. And after a pause, Dimitri squeezes back.

_Green_.

_Fuck it,_ thinks Felix, desperately.

Maybe it’s the sight, the sounds, the sensations, that bring Felix to the brink and beyond. Perhaps it’s the thought of Dimitri letting him use him like this, so willingly giving his body up to allow Felix to do as he pleases.

(Possibly, it’s that unwavering, bursting, _unwanted_ affection that wells up in Felix, bubbling until it wants to blow, as he stares down at Dimitri, reduced to such base enjoyment and base adoration.)

Whatever the reason, Felix groans loudly, and, gripping Dimitri’s hand tightly, thrusts one final time into Dimitri’s mouth. Dimitri sputters and drools, excess cum trickling out of his mouth. But he does his best, and swallows most of it down, adam’s apple visibly bobbing as he gulps down Felix’s semen.

Felix shudders and pulls out, his soft cock trying valiantly to get itself back up again at the erotic image. But Felix is not superhuman. So instead, he crawls off of Dimitri, flops back on his ass with his arms barely managing to support him, and stares.

Like this, so wanton and dazed, Dimitri looks positively innocent. And when Felix looks at him now, he can’t muster up any emotion, other than that One Feeling he refuses to acknowledge still exists within him.

Stupid, traitorous heart, he curses. And as he blatantly stares, it only seems to beat harder, faster, as if to spite him.

Fucking hell.

Honestly, Felix wouldn’t have minded staying there forever. Watching. But when Dimitri shifts, red-faced and panting, and looks up at him so pleadingly...

_Fuck it,_ thinks Felix.

Fuck it, fuck it, _fuck it._

“C’mere,” Felix sighs, like an owner beckoning their puppy over. And Dimitri follows, eye still filled with that damnable adoration, a small, dopey smile on his face. It’s not cute, Felix tells himself. Fucking- _Hell_.

“C’mon,” Felix murmurs, and leans over the prince once again. His hand tugs Dimitri’s pants down, wrapping around Dimitri’s cock, and Dimitri bucks up with a breathy moan. Felix watches, reluctantly enraptured, as Dimitri shakily starts thrusting up, using Felix’s hand as some sort of makeshift fleshlight. 

His cock jerks, again. Jackass.

Dimitri’s making noises that really shouldn’t be coming out of a man his size. Whimpers and whines, cut off sighs and small gasps. It’s really- _Too much_, Felix decides absently, and he takes his free hand and wraps it around Dimitri’s throat.

At that motion, they both freeze. Felix in a state of horror at himself, and Dimitri. Dimitri...

Slowly, Felix pulls his gaze up, and up, to Dimitri’s face.

It’s that eager glint and sudden clarity in the prince’s eye that clues in him. The way the man shudders and trembles underneath him, his breath coming in even shorter pants and fingers digging into the dirt floor beneath them.

_Shit_, realises Felix. _He wants it._

So Felix pushes his hand down, starting slow and gentle. Being careful not to actually harm the man. His palm, rough from war, presses into Dimitri’s throat.

Dimitri, honest to Goddess, _whines_. Like a dying man granted salvation. Felix’s gaze tracks the bob of his adam’s apple, as the prince swallows beneath his hand. Felix presses down harder, and Dimitri audibly gags, while the feverish excitement in his eye raises to a pitch.

Goddess be damned. Felix just came, but his own arousal spikes hard.

Once again, trying his best not to cause damage, Felix clenches his fingers. At that, Dimitri chokes, instinctually spasming under him in a futile attempt at struggling. Felix’s other hand, the one not choking out the future King of Faerghus, begins stroking Dimitri’s cock, the noises of slick far too loud in the quiet training ground.

Dimitri coughs, and Dimitri gasps for breath that won’t come, and Felix takes it all in with a hunger much too inappropriate for someone who just came. But how could he not? When Dimitri’s tearing up from the grip his fingers have around his throat, the way he scrabbles for purchase against the ground, the way he looks at Felix _so damn lovingly._

Goddess. Something in Felix’s chest is hurting, again. Just like what he’d felt all those years ago, when he’d first caught a glimpse of Dimitri after the Tragedy. At the time, the prince had looked so forlorn, so empty, and Felix-

_Felix_-

_Fuck it,_ he thinks. _Fuck it. Just fuck it all._

Felix leans down, and presses his lips against Dimitri’s. Soft, and gentle, and it’s now that Felix swallows the noise Dimitri makes, when he shudders, and trembles, and falls to pieces.

His cock jerks in Felix’s hand, spurting come all over the both of them. Dimitri sobs, choked and breathless, and Felix finally lets his hand up, allows the prince to breathe.

Their kiss is salty, Dimitri’s tears and sweat mixing with blood and creating a truly awful feeling in Felix’s mouth. And clearly, Dimitri feels the same, from the way he sputters, coughing for a reason other than being choked.

Felix pulls away, and feels the edges of his lips curl up into a reluctant smile.

“Tastes bad?” he asks wryly. And when Dimitri is done coughing his lungs out, he gazes up at Felix through watery eyes.

“...It tastes,” he croaks, vocal chords evidently fucked up beyond all belief. Still, his voice doesn’t fail to convey the wonder and awe in his tone. Felix blinks, then remembers.

He stares. And then, unwillingly, he snorts.

“Nine years,” Felix snickers. “Nine years, and that’s what you first taste?”

“It’s awful,” says Dimitri, voice still shredded.

And that’s what finally sets Felix off. He laughs so hard, he has to clutch a hand to his stomach. Actual tears spring to his eyes from the sheer force of his hysteria, and when he finally manages to compose himself to look back at Dimitri, wiping his eyes to clear his vision, he finds Dimitri smiling at him.

“...Oh, knock that stupid grin off your face,” Felix rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t stop that stupid Feeling from welling up inside him. And when Dimitri laughs, he sounds absolutely terrible. Like a dying man, the way his chuckles crack and break with every heave of his chest.

Still, Felix can’t deny it. Not now.

Dimitri is unmistakably _alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help guys i think my porn developed feelings. and also a wordcount. damnit you weren’t supposed to be this long


	6. ingrid/ashe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of mutual masturbation, then some riding action :v
> 
> why are these suddenly getting so long

This, Ashe reflects, is most definitely not something they should be doing in the library. Where anyone can walk in. Whenever.

Still, though, he can't deny the small thrill that rushes through him at the thought. And as long as they don't dirty any of the books...

"Worrying, Ashe?" Ingrid's voice breaks into his thoughts, and Ashe looks up, blinking as he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Ingrid is smiling at him, fond and all too amused, and Ashe flushes red.

"Ah, s-sorry," he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "Just thinking..."

His gaze slides back to the library doors. Ingrid's eyes follows it, landing on the same thing and correctly guessing Ashe's thoughts.

"If you want, we can move this to the bedroom," she offers, but Ashe shakes his head vehemently.

"No, this is fine," he smiles at her. Ingrid beams back.

"Good!" she says. Then, "Well, if that's all settled."

Ashe nods, and Ingrid leans in. Her head tilts, and Ashe closes his eyes, as their lips meet in the middle. Ingrid's lips are dry, chapped. He reaches a hand up, caressing Ingrid's cheek, opening his mouth and encouraging her to deepen it. _More_.

Ingrid acquiesces, with all the grace of nobility. Her tongue slips into Ashe's mouth, and Ashe finds himself moaning around it, their lips spit slick and growing swollen as Ashe sucks.

Hands start creeping up Ashe's torso, sliding his shirt up, and Ashe breaks away with a breathy gasp.

"Well, someone's impatient today," he teases, and Ingrid flushes, a small smile playing over her lips.

"We do have to hurry up, unless you want someone to walk in on us," is her response. Ashe blushes. _Depends on the person_, he thinks, but doesn't say it aloud. Ingrid seems to get it anyway, judging by how her grin turns just the slightest side of sly.

"Right," Ashe nods quickly, and divests himself of his shirt. Almost immediately, Ingrid is on him, her mouth sucking a lovebite just underneath his collarbone. Ashe groans, his legs growing weak, and he braces himself against the library table.

In the silence of the library, the noises of slick and stifled gasps echo. If Ashe could find it in himself, he'd feel embarrassed, but all he can muster instead is a thread of excitement rushing through him, the thought of them fooling around in such a place making his cock jump in his pants.

Ingrid laughs softly, muffled by his chest. In retaliation, Ashe slips his hand up her shirt and, after some groping around, finds his prize. He pinches her nipples lightly, and her squeak sends a course of arousal through him.

Pushing the rest of her shirt up, he kneads at her breasts. Ingrid pants, and tilts her head back up, closing the distance between their lips once more to meet in a slow kiss.

"Oh, Ashe," Ingrid murmurs against his lips, and she rolls her body, her hips meeting his. Ashe groans, breaking their kiss again as his head falls back. He pants up, blinking against the lights of the library as he ruts against Ingrid. He looks down at the sound of fabric rustling, and manages to catch Ingrid shucking her shirt off. Her bra goes soon after, dropping to the floor with a soft click.

She's a gorgeous woman, Ashe knows. His cock twitches at the sight of her bare torso, breasts perky and nipples hard in the cold air. He makes sure to tell her as much, leaning in and putting his mouth on her neck.

"Beautiful," he mumbles, and Ingrid's giggle is cut off by a gasp as Ashe presses featherlight kisses down, sucking a final hickey on her shoulder blade. They rock their bodies together, crotches rubbing and grinding.

"Ah- Ashe," Ingrid keens, hands clenching and unclenching on his waist. "Come on, come on."

She grips the waistband of his pants, pushing them down to reveal Ashe's underwear and bare thighs. There's a visible wet spot on his boxers, from where his hard cock is leaking, and Ashe groans as Ingrid teases it with her thumb.

"'grid," he calls softly, his hips humping into her. "Don't..."

Ingrid hums, and tugs his boxers down as well. Ashe takes a moment to kick them and his pants off his legs, then he's completely naked. The library table is cold against his skin, and Ashe shivers just slightly.

Then he gasps, as Ingrid wraps a warm head around his straining erection. His eyes slip shut, legs trembling, as Ingrid slicks his cock up with his own precum, her hand stroking up and down his aching hardness.

Try as he might to keep upright, Ashe eventually slides down to the floor, his ass hitting the ground with a soft thump. Ingrid follows him down, kneeling over him and straddling his waist. Her hand still wrapped around his cock, squeezing and tight. Ashe breaths in and out, shakily.

"Allow me," he says, hushed, as he reaches out to Ingrid's own pants. He drags them down her long, fair legs, his gaze blatantly lingering.

Ingrid bucks her hips forward, as if to tease Ashe, and she laughs at his stifled whimper.

"Here," she whispers, and releases Ashe, her hands going to the band of her panties. Instinctively, Ashe thrusts his hips, his cock seeking that warmth once more, but he manages to restrain himself, simply watching hungrily as Ingrid strips.

Her remaining clothes get tossed into the same general direction as all those previous, and then Ingrid's there, naked, with her legs trapping Ashe between her.

"Goddess," the swear falls out of Ashe's mouth. He swallows hard, eyes roaming Ingrid's body. His hands move of their own accord, reaching up to-

"Ah ah," Ingrid stops him, gripping his wrists. "No touching. Not yet."

Obedient, Ashe lets his arms drop back down to the floor. His mouth goes dry, as Ingrid then moves to fondle herself. One hand going up to her breasts, the other reaching down to her crotch.

Slick trails down her thighs, her nethers soaking wet, and it makes an all too loud squelch when Ingrid's fingers reach her womanhood. Ashe stares, unable to look away, as Ingrid starts stimulating her own clit, rolling her hips into her own hand and moaning unabashedly.

It's an incredible sight. Ingrid, the very picture of gallant nobility, red-faced and panting as she gasps from humping her own fingers. Ashe gulps, blood rushing to his member.

The view only gets better, as Ingrid slides a finger into herself. She lets out a tiny keen, hips rocking and eyes falling shut, briefly stalling as she stretches around herself.

"Ingrid," Ashe says, awed, and Ingrid opens her eyes to look at him. Smiles.

"Ashe," she says, voice shaky and breathing heavy. "Touch yourself."

What else is Ashe meant to do but obey?

So he does. His hand comes up to wrap around himself, and Ashe whimpers at the stimulation. The warm snugness of his palm against his leaking erection, and the friction as he starts moving his arm.

Ashe lets out a shuddering breath, pupils blown wide. Ingrid stares, licks her lips. They both moan in unison as she adds another finger, scissoring herself and stretching her hole open.

Their erotic noises echo in the large, empty library, but Ashe can't bring himself to care. All he has the time for now is Ingrid, in front of him, rocking her hips down to meet her hand, her other groping her own breast and teasing her nipple. Three fingers now, inside herself and spreading her entrance wide.

So laser focused, Ashe is caught off guard when Ingrid slides out of herself, and instead uses her hands to push Ashe down to the ground. He hits the ground with a light oof, dazed and blinking at the sudden change in scenery.

Propping his upper torso up on his elbows, he turns his attention back to Ingrid.

"Wha-" he starts, but Ingrid cuts him off with a finger to his lips, in the universal shushing gesture. Ashe shuts up, and simply watches with wide eyes when Ingrid pats around the beside them, before grabbing something with a soft "aha!"

Plastic crinkles loudly, and it's a condom she's holding.

"Oh," says Ashe. "Oh."

Ingrid snorts inelegantly.

"You sound dumbfounded," she tells him, and Ashe flushes redder.

"I- I just-" he fumbles, at a loss for words. "Nevermind," he finishes lamely.

Ingrid giggles. It's infectious, and Ashe finds himself breaking down into a small fit of chuckles as well.

"Sorry," he says, in between snickers, and Ingrid shakes her head with a wide grin.

"Now, why are you apologising?" she teases. Ashe just helplessly shrugs, and that sets her off again. "Goddess, you really are far too sweet."

Ashe pouts. "I'm a grown man, you know," he protests, and Ingrid just pinches his cheeks.

"The sweetest grown man alive," she coos, tone saccharine sweet. Ashe huffs, still smiling. That expression is wiped off his face, though, when Ingrid leans in, breath hot on Ashe's ear. "Just don't cry when I ride you dry, okay?"

_“Ingrid!”_

Ingrid laughs, as Ashe burns red. It's a weird sensation, having blood rush to his head and his dick all at once. Ashe sucks in a sharp breath, as Ingrid tears the condom wrapper open, and takes out the contents.

She doesn't waste any time rolling it on. And in what seems like a blink of an eye to Ashe, Ingrid is hovering over him, her entrance pressed against the tip of his cock. Ashe's hips tremble, with the exertion of keeping still.

Slowly, steadily, Ingrid lowers herself. The head of Ashe's cock breaches her, and they both groan at the feeling. Ashe's hands fist and unfist uselessly, as he tries desperately to keep himself together.

Ingrid is hot and tight around him, her insides clenching and flexing so good around his member. It takes all Ashe has in him not to thrust up, to bury himself in that snug heat and ram away in her. He bites his lip, lewd squelching sounds making their way to his ears, as Ingrid moves down, inch by inch.

She's panting, loud and heavy above him. Her face flushed, legs trembling, as she starts fucking herself on Ashe. Like he's a glorified dildo, reserved exclusively for Ingrid's pleasure.

Ashe whimpers at the thought, and his eyes squeeze shut as Ingrid starts riding him harder, faster. Pleasure sparks bright behind his eyelids, Ingrid's noises like music to his ears.

"Ashe," she calls out, wanton, and Ashe groans. Ingrid shifts, angling herself more, rolling her hips shallowly until she suddenly clenches hard around Ashe with a keen. "Oh fuck, fu-_uck,” _she moans lowly, legs shaking.

Ashe bucks his hips up, and she yells, head thrown back, body taut and trembling. Ashe pants, gasping at the way she tightens so deliciously around him.

"Ingrid," he whispers, chants like a mantra. "Ingrid, Ingrid, _Ingrid_."

"Oh, I'm close," Ingrid whimpers, rocking her hips down. She looks back at Ashe, eyes glazed and mouth open. _“Ashe.”_

Ashe surges up, a hand going to the back of her neck and tugging her toward him. She follows eagerly, and they meet in the middle once more, lips clashing against each other in a wet, sloppy kiss.

Like this, with Ingrid pressed all the way against him, Ashe can feel everything. Her minute trembles, the way her chest heaves. Her quivering slickness as she continues to ride Ashe like it's the last moment of her life.

He spills first with a loud whine, hips jerking up as he fills the condom with his cum. Ingrid follows soon after, her hole fluttering around Ashe and making him groan with overstimulation. She gasps and pants into their kiss, body rocking against his.

They break apart with a shudder. Ashe moves first, scooting back, his soft cock slipping out of Ingrid's wetness. It's now that Ingrid's legs finally give out, and she hits the ground with a thump and a groan.

Ashe tries to catch his breath, panting shakily. Absently, he rolls the condom off, tying a messy knot at the end, reminding himself to discard it somewhere inconspicuous once they've recovered.

He flops down to the ground. A few moments later, and Ingrid joins him, laying beside him. Ashe smiles sluggishly at her, and Ingrid returns it.

"...We should probably clean up," he says. _Before anyone else comes in_, is the unspoken addition they can both hear in their heads.

"We should," Ingrid agrees, but doesn't move. And neither does Ashe. 

_Just a few more moments_, he tells himself. A few more moments, and he'll get up.

It's nice like this, though. Laying side by side with Ingrid, watching each other with fond eyes, pretending that there's no war raging on beyond the monastery walls. Just them in the library, enjoying a time of peace.


	7. annette/dedue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pegging rights
> 
> also mention of other sex partners yadda yadda polylions rights

“Relax, Dedue,” Annette coaxes from above him, and Dedue lets out a shuddering sigh.

“My apologies,” he says, blinking up at the orange-haired slip of a girl. “It’s... I don’t often get the opportunity for this.”

‘This’ being a finger, slicked wet with lube, slowly penetrating his ass. Annette grins down at him, ever cheerful, even as she twists her hand, and sends a jolt down Dedue’s spine.

“Well, then think of this as a good thing!” she chirps. “It’s good to step out of your comfort zone, you know.”

Dedue laughs, low and mellow. “Do believe me,” he tells her, a small smile playing on his lips. “I am not opposed in the slightest.”

Annette beams down at him. 

“Good,” she says. With that settled, she slides her finger in, deeper, and Dedue sucks in a slow breath as her hand steadily spears him. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, he thinks. Annette had gone slightly overboard with the amount of lubricant, and it shows. Or rather, feels. 

Still, though. At the moment, it’s simply a feeling. No good or bad, no yes or no. Dedue exhales, as Annette’s finger crooks inside him, spreading him out slightly.

“Alright?” the woman asks, blinking down at Dedue with wide eyes.

“Alright,” Dedue agrees with a nod. He shuts his eyes, rides out the stretch as Annette fits another finger into him. She scissors them, experimentally wriggling them around.

“Hmmm,” she hums, brow furrowed in intense concentration. It’s cute, if Dedue’s being honest, about how seriously she’s taking this. “Move your hips,” she commands.

Unsure, Dedue rocks them down. Once, twice. Annette frowns at his lack of reaction.

“Yeesh, am I doing something wrong?” she murmurs, tone almost concerned. “When I did this with Felix, he seemed to enjoy it...”

“Perhaps we are simply built differently,” Dedue offers. At that, Annette shoots him an amused grin.

“Compared to you, big guy,” she teases, using her free hand to poke a finger into his skin. “Everyone’s built differently!”

“Especially you,” Dedue adds. Annette stares at him, opening and closing her mouth.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she eventually asks. Dedue shrugs, somewhat awkwardly given that he’s lying down.

“It is what it is,” he replies.

“That didn’t actually answer my question, you know.”

“It is your own way of view-“ Dedue cuts off, sucking a sharp breath as Annette curls her fingers and nudges against _that spot_. Annette blinks, and then her eyes positively light up.

“Oh!” she gasps with a grin. “I found it!”

Dedue makes a vaguely affirmative noise, as he rolls his hips down, trying to get that sensation again. Not quite there, and he shifts slightly, moves down harder-

Annette smirks triumphantly as Dedue moans, soft.

“Ooh, I still got it!” she giggles.

The process goes by much faster after that. Or perhaps it’s simply Dedue’s perception of time warping, his building enjoyment making everything seem go race by quicker. Whatever it is, it’s not too long before Annette is pulling four fingers out of his slick, stretched hole, and declaring him ready. 

“It’s going to be great,” she promises him excitedly. Dedue smiles, small and fond.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he tells her truthfully. At that, Annette only seems to get giddier.

“Yeah! I won’t let you down!”

Sometimes, Dedue wonders. If Annette is the anomaly for being so genuinely enthusiastic and hyper about sex, or if it’s everyone else. Whatever the case may be, Dedue’s certainly not complaining.

Instead, he watches patiently, as Annette grabs her strap-on from the nearby table. It takes some fumbling, and some quiet curses, but soon enough Annette is kneeling in between his legs, her cock shining and glistening with lube.

“Alright?” she asks, nudging her tip against his entrance. It’s hard and cold, unlike the usual erections that Dedue handles with the others, but it’s good all the same.

“Alright,” Dedue nods.

Thanks to the thorough preparation, Annette slides in rather easily. The stretch is a pleasant, familiar burn by now, and Dedue shuts his eyes, breathing through her slow thrust in.

It’s nice, he thinks absently. Annette panting above him, steadily fucking into him. The pure enjoyment she derives from the act, despite the neglect of stimulation to herself.

And of course, when Annette angles her hips in the way that makes Dedue’s breathing spike, his body trembling, all the better.

Dedue is not a loud man in bed. By now, everyone’s gotten mostly used to it. Sometimes, they’ll make it challenge amongst themselves: who can make Dedue go loud? They’d take their turns with him, gloat whenever they can get anything more than a shuddering groan.

That’s good too, of course. But sometimes, Dedue simply wants this. A gentle moving of bodies, a bright smile that wants nothing more than for him to have fun. And Annette can get a little wild at times, true, but this time, it’s peaceful.

Dedue likes it.

Dedue really likes it.

So he rocks his hips down, accepting the pleasure that races through his spine whenever Annette humps in. Breathes hard, breathes _broken_, as Annette fucks him open. Pants, as Annette wraps her hands around his aching hardness.

His orgasm is a quiet one, as well. A small gasp, and then his body is tensing, eyes squeezing shut, as he paints his own torso white with his release.

When he reopens his eyes, blinks a bleary gaze up at the ceiling, Annette is slipping out of him. She’s smiling, affection leaking through her face.

“You had fun?” she asks, grinning. Truly, what other answer can Dedue even give?

“I had fun,” he tells her, and the way she beams is the real highlight of the night.


	8. sylvain/mercedes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> praise kink??. also blowjobs. 
> 
> frankly i was one step away from “mommy” but like. Nah
> 
> EDIT: i totally blanked when posting this and didn’t realise i messed up the usual paragraphing format oops fixed now

Sylvain, Mercedes thinks, is a remarkably fun man to tease.

Case in point: the way he practically drools as she fondles her own breasts in front of him.

“What did I say about touching?” she reminds him as he stretches out an arm again. Sylvain quickly retracts it, flushing guiltily.

“Oh, come on!” he whines. “How am I supposed to resist when someone as gorgeous as you is in front of me!”

Mercedes giggles. For all Sylvain may preen and brag, she thinks, there’s a genuine affection in the way he looks at her. Looks at _them_, really. How he smiles, so sincerely, when he thinks they aren’t looking.

“Don’t worry about yourself,” says Mercedes. Breathes in deep, as she adjusts her own position, leans into Sylvain’s space. “I’ll take care of you.”

Sylvain’s pupils dilate, at that.

“Oh yeah,” he says, blinking dumbly. “Oh yeah, I’d like that.”

Mercedes hums, and moves in further. Sylvain’s breathing picks up, as she trails a hand down his bare chest. Orange fuzz covers the middle, softening at the edges and reaching down to Sylvain’s navel. It’s cute, Mercedes thinks.

Ingrid always complains about it, whenever they gettogether, and Annie stubbornly insists that Sylvain either ‘go hard or go home’ (“Either you go Dedue, or you go Ashe with it,” she had giggled drunkenly one night), but Mercedes likes it. It’s charming in its own way. Not to mention how it provides such a convenient and easy-to-follow path down, down to Sylvain’s member.

The man sucks in a breath, as Mercedes lightly grazes his straining erection with her fingers.

“Getting right into it, huh?” Sylvain grins. “Not complaining, you know, I like me a woman who can take initiative-“

“You say that,” interrupts Mercedes, “as if Ingrid and Annie are not the same.”

“Yeah,” is Sylvain’s reply. “And I like all of you.”

Honesty, Mercedes decides, deserves a reward.

Sylvain groans, but keeps his hips still, as Mercedes’s hand twists around his cock, rubbing against and around the length of it. Wet, slick noises fill Mercedes’s bedroom, as Mercedes steadily coaxes more sounds to tumble out of Sylvain’s mouth, more noises to join the crescendo.

Sylvain may call her beautiful, but Mercedes thinks he makes a rather good sight himself: face red, lips bitten raw, with beads of sweat trickling down his neck. His hand comes up, as if making to hide his face, muffle his noises, but Mercedes pushes it back down with her free hand.

“I want to see you,” she coos, and Sylvain whimpers. “I want to hear you.”

“Trust me, gorgeous,” he gasps, as she swipes her thumb across the tip of his dick, “I- _oh_\- won’t silence myself for the world.”

“Good,” Mercedes smiles, and Sylvain shivers as he stares at her, transfixed. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” 

“Oh fuck,” Sylvain moans. “Oh- Goddess, you can’t just _say_ that.” 

“Say what?” Mercedes grins innocently. As innocently as one can look while stroking a leaking cock with one hand, at least. “That you’re a good boy? Sweet, and kind, and so, so loveable?” 

_“Mercedes.”_

“You can really be so adorable at times,” Mercedes laughs, as Sylvain’s face goes the reddest she’s ever seen. His cock is twitching in her hand, jumping at her every word. “Poor thing,” she says. “Have we been neglecting you, sweetheart?”

“Darling,” Sylvain gasps out. “You could n-ne_eever_ neglect me. Oh- _Goddess_-“

“We really should appreciate you more,” Mercedes muses. “Don’t you think?”

“Um,” Sylvain says, still panting, as Mercedes starts leaning down. “I’m- I’m broken, right now, dude, I can’t think, don’t ask me-“ 

“Oh, but I want to hear you talk,” says Mercedes, and then she swallows his cock down.

Sylvain audibly chokes on his own words, a jumble of babbled nonsense flying out of his mouth as Mercedes wraps her lips around him.

“You’re good, you’re great, oh _Goddess, don’t fucking stop, holy shit-“_

Mercedes hums happily around Sylvain’s cock.

“That’s the spirit,” she tries to say, but it comes out as muffled incoherency. Sylvain still groans at the way her mouth moves around him.

“Thought I was the one doing the talking now,” he huffs out, grinning down at Mercedes. She bobs her head in lieu of nodding. Trying to hold a conversation while sucking someone off is hard work, Mercedes has realised.

She licks up a stripe up a vein, drops a hand onto Sylvain’s thigh. Feels out how he strains, muscles tensing, as he moans out his pleasure for what seems to be the whole world to hear. 

His erection leaks bitter onto Mercedes’s tongue, and she swallows. Sylvain’s fingers tangle into her hair, gripping but not pulling, coaxing her foward, and down. 

“You’re so great,” he’s saying. “You’re incredible, you’re the damn best, Mercedes, swear to the fucking Goddess, g’nna, g’nna-“

Mercedes pulls off, and crawls up onto Sylvain. A hand wraps around his cock, a mouth moves near his ear.

“Good boys deserve their reward, don’t you think, dear?” she says, voice low, and Sylvain lets out a sob as he cums. His hips jerk, his release splattering all over the both of them, and Sylvain falls back onto the bed with an exhausted sigh.

Mercedes isn’t done yet, though.

“How long do you think,” she idly asks, as she crawls over his prone body, “it’ll take before you’re ready to fuck me?”

“Goddess, Mercedes, you’re going to be the death of me,” Sylvain rasps out, before tugging her down into an open-mouthed kiss.


	9. ashe/felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boy ive been excited to write this because ashelix owns my whole ass
> 
> voice kink?? if u know hysterical literature. its like that. but harder. and also they fuck over the desk

“And so, with a great s-swing of his lance, Lo_oog_ sent his foe flying, with- ngh!” Felix braces himself on the table, gripping the edge with white knuckles. His other hand, holding the book, doesn’t fare much better.

“If you keep on like that, you’re going to rip the pages,” Ashe tells him conversationally.

“Easy for you to say,” Felix snaps, then cuts off with a gasp as Ashe’s fingers curl up inside him, nudging hard against his prostate. “Shit,” Felix mutters, face red and body trembling, wishing nothing more than to just stop this nonsense and take it to bed, like any regular person.

But no. Ashe wants him to read this stupid book about knights, at Felix’s own desk, as the man’s fingers push and prod inside Felix. It’s the kind of weird shit that Felix wouldn’t have expected out of the usually shy and calm Ashe, but here they are.

And, well, it’s not like Felix is having a bad time, per say.

“Loog,” starts Felix again, voice shaking but not stopping as Ashe continues thrusting his fingers, “rushed over to the maiden, who’d fallen to the side amidst the battle. “Miss,” he said, “are you we- _ghhhhh_-“

Felix sucks in a sharp breath, as Ashe’s thin, long digits crook inside him. Three of them now, pumping and twisting, spreading Felix wide. Ashe is unusually deft with his hands, and it shows when it comes to things like this; when the man has his current partner gasping and bucking their hips down onto his fingers, wanton and asking for more.

Not that Felix has that little self-control over himself, to be reduced to begging so quickly. But it’s a near thing.

“Fucking-“ Felix hisses, rocking back into, onto Ashe. Ashe’s front is pressed up against Felix’s breath, their bare skin plastered together, Ashe’s breath hot on the back of Felix’s neck. And when Ashe laughs, quietly, Felix can feel the vibrations from his chest.

“That’s not in the book, now, is it,” Ashe comments. Felix grits his teeth.

“Oh, _shut up._”

Felix allows himself some time to breathe, to close his eyes and pant out his pleasure. But soon enough, he forces his gaze back onto the book, and tries to continue.

“And so the maiden replied,” he manages, shuddering, his grip tight, “‘Sir Loog, th-_ank_\- you, for your kindness, for your compassion. Worry not for me, but for those on the battlefield, for their plight I fear to be worse than mine, and their _struggles_-“

Felix cuts off, and grits his teeth. He inhales, slow and trembling, as he rolls his hips back. Lube slicks and trails down Felix’s legs, his hole squelching audibly with Ashe’s every thrust.

“Ashe,” he moans out, long and broken. At that, Ashe lets his head fall onto Felix, his forehead pressing into the curve of Felix’s neck.

“Felix,” he says, voice hushed and low. “You sound so _amazing_.”

At that, Felix’s cock jumps, and he groans in an almost frustrated desperation. He shifts, pressing back into Ashe, arching his back in a silent demand for more.

When Ashe moves to bite down on his shoulder, Felix can’t stop the startled cry from leaving his mouth. It’s almost too much, Ashe’s hot breath on him, his tongue laving Felix’s skin, the way his teeth graze ever so slightly against him. His expert fingers grinding into Felix, abusing his prostate and making Felix see stars.

“Their struggles-“ Felix repeats uselessly, almost incoherent. “Their struggles more di- dire- fucking, _shit_-“

Felix drops the book, braces both his hands on the table, and gives in.

“Ashe,” he grunts, head tilting back and lolling into the other man. “Just shut up and fuck me already.”

Ashe huffs, amused.

“I wasn’t speaking, though,” he says.

“Shut up.”

Ashe hums into Felix’s shoulder.

“What if I told you to keep reading?” his question comes out muffled, but Felix hears it all the same. In response, he just bucks his hips down, almost violently, onto Ashe.

“Then I’d tell you to shut _the fuck up_,” Felix snarls, _“and that I’ll take what I damn well want.”_

Ashe’s breath hitches in clear arousal. From his peripheral vision, Felix can barely make out Ashe’s pupils dilating, his face flushing redder.

An idea for another time, perhaps. For now, he lets Ashe push him down onto the table, his chest meeting the cool wooden surface. Felix pants, bent over his own desk, as Ashe’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him annoyingly empty. Behind him comes the familiar sound of plastic crinkling, and at that, Felix turns his head with a glare.

“Don’t bother,” he says, and Ashe pauses, condom wrapper in hand. “Just _hurry up._”

Felix turns back, pressing his overheated face into the wood. Not that he needs to see in order to know that Ashe is staring at him, with that stupid little fond smile on his face.

“You can be so cute sometimes, Felix,” Ashe says, his grin practically audible in his voice. Felix just groans.

_“Hurry. Up.”_

Not a moment too soon, Felix feels a familiar, thick hardness pressing against him, nudging into his entrance. He sucks in a deep breath, and exhales shakily, willing himself to relax.

Ashe’s cock slides into him easily, slick and wet with the frankly excessive amount of lube that Ashe likes to use. Felix gasps quietly, shutting his eyes.

Ashe isn’t very thick, but he’s long. Felix has taken him far too many times to count by now, and yet everytime, Felix still gets caught off-guard by just how deep Ashe sinks into him. It’s somewhat maddening, the feeling of Ashe just pushing deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

Felix cants his hips, butting back against Ashe.

“Move,” he grits out, and promptly collapses into a moan as Ashe obeys. At this angle, Felix can feel everything; Ashe’s length rubbing inside him, his tip dragging across Felix’s prostate. Ashe’s heady breaths, hot on Felix’s back, and the man’s fingers digging into Felix’s hips, gripping so tightly onto them.

Ashe ruts in and out of him, his little keens and sounds like Goddessdamn music go Felix’s ears. The desk rocks slightly, along with his thrusts, and it takes all Felix has, his nails scrabbling for purchase, not to just get swept up in the whole thing.

Everything Felix has, and more, especially when Ashe decides to open his mouth again.

“I want to hear it, Felix,” Ashe says, rushed and needy. “I want to hear you, I want to hear your voice, come on come on-“

Felix gasps, and shakes, and blearily, he grabs at the novel, just barely in reach. He can’t just refuse, not when Ashe is begging so well. Blindly, he flips the book open to a random page, and forces his vision to focus on the swimming words in front of him.

“Loog,” Felix croaks out in between his moans, his voice wrecked and trembling, “thrust his sp-_ear_, th-through the enemy’s chest. ‘F-fie- fuck- fie! For you have d-disgraced our country, our me-_en_-“

Felix’s voice breaks with a crack as Ashe sends a particular strong thrust up into his prostate.

“Keep talking,” Ashe urges, and that’s when he moves his hand and wraps it around Felix’s cock. It’s almost too much, too fucking much and Felix is practically on the verge of cumming, right there, right now, but damn if he’s going to blow before Ashe does.

“For this, I shall c_ccccon_demn you,” Felix is barely coherent at this point, but Ashe doesn’t seem to care; moaning even louder and moving even faster as Felix speaks. “And th-thus I sentence y-_ouu_-“

Felix cuts off as Ashe slams into him. He chokes on his own words, his eyes slipping shut as he lets the book fall from his hands, once again.

“Ashe,” he moans unashamedly, “Ashe, fucking- fuck- _shit_-“

“Felix,” Ashe chants, sounding out of his mind. “Felix, Felix, oh, you feel so good, you sound so good, _Felix_-“

With that final cry, he bucks in and his hips still, twitching as he releases inside Felix. His hand pumps, once, twice, and that along with the warmth filling him is what finally pushes Felix over the edge with a long groan. Cum shoots over and onto the table, just shy of hitting the book.

They’re still for a brief moment, unmoving, red and panting with exertion.

“Goddess,” Felix mutters, dazedly. “What in the _fuck_ was that.”

Ashe laughs, a little hysterical and a little raspy.

Ashe slips out and leans his weight onto Felix’s back. Felix, for his part, takes it all with what’s left of his dignity, panting red-faced against the desk surface. He allows them both a few moments of reprieve, before moving with a groan, and straightening up. 

Ashe slips off his back, and goes to grab the book, bent at the edges and not in the best condition, especially after what they’d just done. He fumbles it somewhere onto Felix’s shelves, and Felix glares but takes no action, making a mental note to return it later.

Goddess, he’s never going to be able to look at that book the same way again.

“We,” Felix announces, tone brooking no argument, “are never doing that again.”

“We aren’t?” Ashe asks, sounding like a kicked puppy. Felix groans, and turns his head to scowl at him, but quickly turns back at the force of Ashe’s pout directed his way.

“No,” Felix grumbles. Then, “...Stop looking at me like that.”

“You enjoyed it though, right?” Ashe says, and he actually sounds worried, so Felix does end up turning back to look at him. The man is biting his lip, and Goddess_damnit_ Felix is weak.

“...I enjoyed it,” he grudgingly admits. “But- just-“

Words fail Felix in the wake of Ashe’s beaming grin. He stares for a moment too long, before hurriedly looking away, cheeks flushed. 

“...ugh, fine!” Felix throws his hands up. “You win, whatever, just, not anytime soon! Alright?”

He chances a glance back. Ashe looks over the damn moon.

“Oh, thank you, Felix! You really are kind!” he gushes. Felix’s face goes redder.

“D-Don’t say it like I’m doing some great thing, when I’m just indulging your kinks!” he sputters. If anything, though, it just makes Ashe’s smile grow wider.

“It’s great to me,” Ashe says, voice far too fond, and Felix’s face burns. He turns away.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters. “...Next time, I’m picking the book.”


	10. annette/mercedes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha 69
> 
> mercedes doms everyone. sorry i dont make the rules

“I don’t actually know how this works,” Annette confesses quietly, she and Mercedes sitting across from each other on Annette's bed. Annette is kneeling, hands supporting herself as she sits on her calves. Mercedes, on the other hand, is sitting on the pillow, cross-legged with her hands in her lap.

“Well,” Mercedes says, putting a thoughtful finger to her chin, “I don’t think it’s that difficult to figure out.”

Annette flushes, at that. 

"You don't like," she waves a hand around, "think that we're going to break each other's necks, are we…?"

Mercedes looks at her, amused. 

"Annie, we've both done worse before and we turned out fine," she points out. Annette pouts. 

"This is different!" she protests. Mercedes cocks her head. 

"How so?"

"B-Because," Annette sputters, "uh, because…"

Mercedes waits, patiently. 

"...Shut up," Annette mutters, glancing away with red cheeks. Mercedes smiles.

"I didn't say anything, though."

"You know what I meant!"

Annette looks back at Mercedes, bashful and blushing, her bottom lip sticking out. It’s kinda unfair, she thinks, how Mercedes can be so beautiful and elegant and graceful and eloquent, while Annette’s here, forever branded as ‘cute’, notoriously clumsy and deemed one of the two babies of the team. (Ashe may have gotten a growth spurt in the five years away, which was  _ totally unfair how could he do this to her, _ but even now, matching Felix’s height  _ (the traitor) _ , his face just speaks for him. It’s something he and Annette commiserate over, bemoaning their tragic fate.)

When she was younger, Annette used to think she wanted to be just like Mercedes. She knows better now, obviously. That the feeling of admiration, warmth bubbling in her stomach and her guts twisting up into knots at the sight of the older girl — well, it was admiration, but not only that.

And now they’re sitting together. On Annette’s bed. Where they have been before. Where they’ve had  _ sex  _ before. Everytime, Annette thinks that she must be the luckiest girl in the world.

“If you’re that worried,” Mercedes offers, bringing Annette back to reality, “we can just try it on our sides.”

Annette perks up, at that. 

“Ooh, good idea,” she enthuses, and starts rearranging herself. Mercedes looks at her, fond.

“Your clothes, Annie,” she reminds her. 

“Gyah!”

Annette hurriedly shoves herself up, shifting into a sitting position as her hands grab the edge of her nightshirt. Mercedes watches.

“You know,” she says, “if you’re so nervous, then we don’t-“

“Nonono!” Annette gabs, shaking her head furiously. Damnit, her sleeves are stuck. This is a  _ disaster. _ “I’ve got this! Let’s just- Mercie! Take off your clothes!”

“Well,” says Mercedes. “If you’re sure.”

Even the way she strips is dignified, Annette despairs. Meanwhile, she can barely even get her shirt over her head. Oh, why does this always have to happen with  _ Mercedes? _ Annette usually manages to remain relatively calm and cool with everyone else, so it makes no sense that the person she knows best is the one she messes up around. It’s  _ terrible. _

Delicate fingers grasp the fabric around Annette’s head, and Annette stills. Slowly, gently, Mercedes tugs Annette’s nightshirt off, folding it neatly and placing it on the wardrobe beside them once she’s done. 

“...I still can’t get over how you  _ fold  _ them,” Annette mutters, trying unsuccessfully to hide her furious blush. At that, Mercedes laughs, tinkling and clear. 

“It helps later on.”

“But still.”

Mercedes grins at her indulgently. “Is it truly so bad?”

“It’s not  _ bad,  _ I’m just… It’s surprising, okay! No one else does it,” Annette protests. Mercedes simply nods gravely at that. 

“They do really just throw their clothes everywhere, don’t they,” she says. Annette avoids her gaze.

“Y-Yeah,” she giggles nervously, trying her best not to think about how the last time she and Felix laid together, they threw their clothes around so haphazardly that Annette’s bra had somehow managed to make it onto hanging lights. Annette had laughed so hard she almost ruined the mood. That, Annette thinks to herself, was most definitely a wild night. 

“Well, Annie, are you ready now?” Mercedes’s voice jolts Annette out of her thoughts. And suddenly, Annette is full of nerves again. 

“Yeah,” she tries not to stutter, bobbing her head. “Come on, Mercie, lie down.”

Mercie does, her long, naked body spread across Annette’s bed sheets. It’s a beautiful contrast, Annette thinks, her bare skin against the royal blue. Annette’s breath catches in her throat, as it always does, and she can’t help but reach out a gentle hand, caressing Mercedes’s smooth skin. 

Mercedes sighs at the touch, relaxing and leaning into it. It’s intoxicating, almost, the way Mercedes goes so pliant and willing under Annette’s hand. How trusting she is, as Annette follows an invisible line, her fingers brushing up and up until they reach the curve of Mercedes’s breasts.

Annette leans down, slowly, carefully, and puts her mouth on Mercedes’s nipples. Mercedes lets out a slight gasp, as Annette’s tongue laves over her. A hum that picks up, as Annette brings her hands up, gently squeezing and massaging Mercedes’s chest. 

“Annie…” Mercedes breathes out, and Annette can feel the way her lungs expand and contract, her chest rising and falling. Slowly, Annette coaxes Mercedes to turn on her side, and Annette shifts with the movement, settling down beside the older woman without a pause in her ministrations. 

They’re laying together, face-to-face, their legs tangled and their hair fanned out over the bedsheets. Soft moans fill the air as Annette licks a trail up Mercedes’s body, pressing butterfly kisses to her skin and sucking a bite onto Mercedes’s neck. 

It’s not that Annette is  _ possessive, _ or anything. But there’s a thrill that runs hot through her, whenever there’s hints of red bruises on Mercedes’s body that Annette knows she caused. Hickeys, love bites, sometimes even the marks of teeth. It’s practically an artform, Annette thinks, the way they mar Mercedes’s unblemished skin. (Or, really, Annette decides, the way they adorn it.)

“Annie,” Mercedes moans, and then Annette is being lightly tugged up, her head pulled towards Mercedes’s and her lips being greeted by another’s. It’s a soft kiss, their mouths moving velvety against each other. Annette reaches out and grips Mercedes’s hands. Their fingers interlink, and Annette doesn’t let go, even as she breaks their kiss, leaning away. 

Mercedes is the picture of ethereal beauty, Annette thinks. With her red swollen lips, and her blushing red cheeks, and her loving, caring gaze. Annette can’t help but stare, and Annette can’t help but think, repeatedly: beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. 

It must be a crime of some sort, to tear her eyes away. To loosen her hands, and let slip her fingers. But it’s something that must be done, if Annette ever wants this night to go on. So Annette shifts, rearranging herself, and soon enough she finds herself facing an entirely different part of Mercedes. A part no less gorgeous, she thinks. 

Mercedes makes it a point to shave regularly, down here. Unlike Annette, who procrastinates on it for weeks or months, or Ingrid, who doesn’t bother at all. It’s not that Annette has a preference, per say, but there is a certain satisfaction, she supposes, to have such a clear, unobstructed view of Mercedes’s vulva. 

It’s pretty, of course. Just like the rest of her. Annette doesn’t bother waiting, or teasing, and dips her head, opening her mouth and latching onto Mercedes’s clit. 

Mercedes gasps, and her hips buck forward into Annette’s face, involuntarily. Annette can feel hot breath tingling on her own nether region, Mercedes’s soft pants against her as Annette sucks on her. 

Hands come up to grip Mercedes’s thighs, as Annette delves deeper, licks harder, presses in more. And her nails dig in, accidentally, when Mercedes begins to return the favor.

Mercedes’s tongue is wet and warm, hard in her strokes against Annette, and Annette groans as she cants her hips forward, rolling in an unspoken plea for more. 

As always, Mercedes obliges. 

Annette pulls away, just briefly, to catch her breath. Her eyes slide shut, her mouth lets slip quiet whispers of “Mercie”, her hands trying desperately to ground herself as they clutch Mercedes’s supple legs. 

“Shit,” she hisses, hushed. Her body rocks. “Mercie, oh, please, please,  _ please…” _

A hum of reply, and the vibrations go straight into Annette, sending mini-shockwaves of pleasure up her spine. 

This, Annette realises, may have been a mistake. 

Just how is she supposed to focus on pleasing Mercedes when Mercedes is doing such a good job of distracting her? Just how is she supposed to eat Mercedes out, when Mercedes is already eating her out, and doing such a damn good job of it? It’s an impossible task. 

_ But I can’t let Mercie down,  _ Annette thinks, frantically.  _ I need to- _

Even now, as preoccupied as she is, it’s all too obvious when Mercedes pulls away. A disappointed whine slips out from Annette’ throat, and she hurriedly claps a hand over her mouth to stifle it, even as she feels Mercedes shaking from laughter against her. 

“Stop,” Annette protests, flushing red from a reason not due to physical exertion. She scoots away, turns her head down; sure enough, Mercedes is smiling, amused at her. 

“Are you overthinking things again, Annie?” the older woman asks mirthfully. Annette burns hotter.

“No,” she lies. Too bad that Mercedes can see straight through her. 

“Don’t be so nervous,” Mercedes says, and pats Annette on the thigh. It’s kinda weird, not to mention uncomfortable, craning her neck like this just to see Mercedes’s face, but Annette manages. 

“I know,” Annette sighs. 

“Have fun!”

“I know!” Annette pouts. 

Mercedes is the one to sigh, this time. 

“Annie…”

Annette just pouts harder. 

“Come now,” Mercedes says finally, and then she swings a leg over Annette’s head, kneeling on top of her. “I’ll help you.”

Annette stares up, blinking. 

“Huh?” is the only thing she can articulate. And then Mercedes’s descending on her, her legs holding her hovering hips just above Annette’s face, her hands gripping Annette’s calves. And then  _ her tongue, _ and Annette proceeds to lose all coherent thought. 

She has enough of her mind left, however, to open her mouth and stick out her tongue, lay it flat against Mercedes. And that’s what Mercedes uses, to grind down and roll, to seize her own pleasure with her own two hands. Annette is helpless, simply riding the wave as it comes, as Mercedes fucks into her with a tongue, and brazenly uses Annette’s mouth to get off. 

The sounds of squishing slick resound in the room, accompanied by their noises and little outpourings of pleasure. Annette closes her eyes, and laps desperately, messily. 

She’s close, she knows. Her body is trembling taut, her hands spasming where they’re gripping onto Mercedes. She can’t stop the embarrassing moans and gasps from escaping her, muffled by Mercedes's body. 

But still. Annette wants Mercedes to finish first. 

So Annette holds back, and she focuses her attention on Mercedes's clit. Presses in with her tongue, just barely grazes it with her teeth in the way she knows Mercedes likes; and she can feel Mercedes tense. All at once, Mercedes's release is flooding her mouth, her hips jerking, and Annette is licking, swallowing, gasping. 

Annette lets go soon after, and she shivers as Mercedes mouths her through it. She stares up in a daze, squinting against the light as Mercedes rolls off of her. 

"Guh," she gets out. 

Mercedes huffs out a laugh, bed sheets shuffling as she shifts. 

"See?" she says brightly, her mouth  and tongue miraculously still working. Annette marvels at her stamina. Truly a force to be reckoned with. "That was easy!"

_ "You did all the work, though," _ Annette wants to counter, but her face still feels kinda numb, so it comes out as, "Bleh."

Mercedes understands her, anyway. 

"It's okay," she tells Annette, "You'll have experience, next time, so it'll be fine?"

_ "Next time?!" _ is what Annette tries to say. 

She just wheezes, though. 


	11. sylvain/dimitri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> incredibly unsexy rimming hours
> 
> i wrote most of this while sleep-deprived and incoherent in the middle of the night. sorry for my crimes

Sylvain, as Dimitri has found, is remarkably good at making people lose all sense of rationality. 

“Sylvain!” Dimitri hisses, glancing nervously at the tent flap. “This is not the time-“

“C’mon, Your Highness,” Sylvain whines. He presses up further against Dimitri, his body warm against Dimitri’s own, his breath humid against Dimitri’s neck. Dimitri swallows, and tries not to look at Sylvain’s lips, his eyes as he stares wide at Dimitri. “Just a quick one, yeah?”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri repeats sternly. “We are on a  _ mission.” _

Sylvain snorts. 

“Yeah, and we’re done,” he says flippantly. “Bandits are dead, everyone’s alive, and we’re heading back. Time for a little celebration, don’t you think?”

“We- this-“ Dimitri struggles with his words, flushing as Sylvain moves in closer. “This is unsafe! Anyone could attack us at anytime-“

“Chill,” Sylvain drawls. His hand comes up to cup Dimitri’s cheek. “That’s why we have watch duty.”

“The watch duty is there to  _ alert _ us, not protect us,” protests Dimitri. 

“We’ll just stop, then,” Sylvain shrugs. 

“In the  _ middle-“ _

“Don’t tell me you don’t have self-control to switch gears if the time calls for it,” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “I’ve seen it happen. No need for lies, Your Highness. Have to say, that one time with Ingrid...I was  _ really  _ impressed by how fast you-“

“Enough!” Dimitri lets out an undignified squawk, and claps a hand over Sylvain’s mouth. “I thought we agreed to never speak of that again!”

Sylvain lets out some muffled sounds that if Dimitri strains his ears and listens closely, he can almost vaguely make out as,  _ “No we didn’t.” _

“Yes we did,” Dimitri argues. “I remember it very well. I told you to shut your mouth, and you said, and I quote word-for-word so do not mock me for this, ‘how about you shut me up with your dick, your highness’ and then I took my lance-“

“I still don’t remember that happening,” says Sylvain, pulling back and freeing his mouth from Dimitri’s palm, “but that does sound like something I would say, so I’m going to have to believe you on that.”

Dimitri sighs. 

“Okay but like,” says Sylvain after a pause. “You realise you didn’t disprove my point in the slightest, right? Like I’m still right. You can totally get it up and still fight like a beast if you’re interrupted so-“

“Stop talking,” orders Dimitri. 

“...So is that a no?”

“It’s irresponsible,” says Dimitri flatly. “And dangerous. And we’ll wake everyone up.”

“Still not hearing a no.”

“You’re terrible.”

Sylvain sidles back up to Dimitri, and slings his arms around Dimitri’s neck. He leans in, his face inches away from Dimitri. 

“That’s not a no, though,” he says. His breath is hot on Dimitri’s face, eyes lidded and a smug smirk playing on his lips. The sight of it sends an unwanted jolt through Dimitri’s body, and he bites his lip. Tries to mentally list down all the reasons why he shouldn’t be letting Sylvain drape himself all over him, to let Sylvain stare at him with that hungry gaze, to let Sylvain help take the edge off the uncomfortable buzz beneath his skin that’s been festering ever since they killed-

_ Irresponsible. Dangerous. You’re going to wake everyone up.  _

Dimitri closes his eyes, and sucks in a shaky breath. Sylvain’s arms around him go tighter, but Dimitri doesn’t push him away. 

“And here I thought I was the insatiable one,” Sylvain laughs, before he closes the distance. 

Sylvain doesn’t waste any time. Which, to be fair, is a fair decision in and of itself, considering the time and place of their...act. And they really, really shouldn’t be doing this here and now, but also Sylvain has his tongue in Dimitri’s mouth and his clothed erection pressing against Dimitri’s thigh, so. Dimitri’s not exactly thinking straight at the moment. 

Deft hands come up to tug at Dimitri’s nightshirt, expert hands unbuttoning it and slipping it off of Dimitri, down his shoulders. Dimitri is mildly ashamed to admit that he doesn’t return the favour quite so dexterously, but he gets the job done nonetheless. With their torsos now bare, Dimitri can feel each and every hard line of Sylvain that presses against him; his defined abs nudging into Dimitri’s own, his hands moving to claw at Dimitri’s back. Dimitri lets out a shuddering gasp into Sylvain’s mouth, as Sylvain juts his hip and rubs their covered members together. 

“C’mon, Your Highness,” Sylvain smirks with kiss swollen lips when he finally pulls back. His hair is rumpled from Dimitri running his hands through it, tugging and pulling at the orange strands. Dimitri stares blatantly, sucking in desperate pants of air to regain his stolen breath, as he oogles the flush on Sylvain’s face, spreading down his neck. “Show me a good time, okay?”

“You’re the one who started it,” points out Dimitri, but his hands are moving, grabbing the waistband of Sylvain’s boxers and pulling them down. Sylvain’s cock bobs out, hard and already leaking, and Dimitri doesn’t spare a moment before wrapping a firm hand around it. 

Sylvain moans, loud and shameless, rutting up into Dimitri’s palm. At the sound, Dimitri burns even redder, and slaps his free hand over Sylvain’s mouth. 

"Don't be so loud!" he pleads, eyes darting nervously to the tent flap. Sylvain blinks, doe-eyed. And then Dimitri feels a smirk against his palm, and there's tongue on his hand, a dick grasped in his other, and Sylvain is insistently pressing forward-

Sylvain is laughing, muffled and wicked, into Dimitri's hand, as Dimitri lets out a short, involuntary whine. 

"Ass," hisses Dimitri, in his moment of discomposure. But he's distracted yet again as Sylvain's hand shoves its way down Dimitri's own pants, and Dimitri has to bite his lip to stifle his noises.

It's like they're a bunch of teenagers, sneaking around after curfew and giving illicit, sloppy handjobs in the dark of the dormroom. But they're not. They're both in their twenties, and they’re squatting in a tent out in the middle of nowhere, and they’ve just gotten back from killing bandits trying to turn a profit from the war raging around them. Not for the first time, Dimitri wonders if this entire thing is a wise decision. 

“You’re thinking too much,” murmurs Sylvain, gripping Dimitri’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his mouth. Dimitri can easily overpower Sylvain if he wishes to, but he lets his hand be dragged away, allows Sylvain to pin it down against the ground in an illusion of control. “Just stop thinking. It’ll be fine.”

“I think you could probably stand to think a little more,” says Dimitri, somewhat dazedly.

“Fair,” Sylvain agrees cheerfully. “But my point still stands.”

With that, he casually twists his hand in an evidently practiced maneuver, as Dimitri’s mind goes blank. This is unfair, Dimitri thinks dimly. How is he supposed to be the logical one, when Sylvain is here, and Sylvain is doing that, and Sylvain is grinning so smugly at him while they have their hands on each other’s cocks, while they lie naked against each other. This is  _ unfair. _

“You’re still thinking,” says Sylvain, husky and low. 

And he tightens his grip, and he moves his hand, and Dimitri isn’t, not anymore. 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri gasps out, his head spinning, his thoughts whirling out of reach, and Sylvain laughs, once more, when Dimitri lets him push him down to the ground. The tent fabric shifts beneath him, and through the thin layer, Dimitri can feel the hard ground against him, the tiny stones digging into him. But Sylvain is above him, and Sylvain is above him, and Sylvain is above him, and that’s enough. 

“I asked you to show me a good time, didn’t I?” Sylvain asks teasingly, shucking his boxers fully off his legs as he moves. More shuffling around, and then Sylvain is hovering atop Dimitri’s face. “C’mon.  _ C’mon.” _

“This is unsanitary,” manages Dimitri, blearily. 

“I literally just took a bath?”

“In the  _ river.” _

“I mean,” says Sylvain. “We’ve had worse.”

For the life of him, Dimitri can’t bring himself to disagree. 

So when Sylvain lowers his hips, Dimitri obediently sticks out his tongue, and gets to hear Sylvain’s satisfied sigh when Dimitri blindly laps at his hole. From this vantage point, he can barely make out the way Sylvain wraps a hand around himself, and pumps. 

“You’re always so good at this,” Sylvain praises, and Dimitri can’t stop the shudder that runs through his body. “Mm, yeah, c’mon.” Sylvain rolls his hips down, and then Dimitri’s tongue is sliding into Sylvain, and Dimitri can feel the way Sylvain shakes around it. “Fuck  _ yes,  _ Dimitri,  _ Dimitri.” _

Is it weird that Dimitri feels like a shot of heat spike through him at the sound of his own name? Probably, he concludes. But it’s not his fault. Not when everyone is so insistent of calling him  _ Your Highness  _ (other than Felix, that is) and how it’s only in the midst of their...love-making, Dimitri would like to call it, but perhaps that’s inaccurate — their intercourse, that they decide to start calling his name. 

It’s like a Pavlovian response. Say  _ Dimitri _ only when they’re having sex, and soon enough, Dimitri’s going to associate his own damn name with the act. 

Sylvain certainly isn’t helping matters, not with the way he keeps groaning Dimitri’s name, over and over again, as Dimitri fucks into him with his tongue, licks into his hole with sloppy abandon. This is not a comfortable position: Dimitri can’t see with Sylvain’s everything blocking his view, and there’s going to be a crick in Dimitri’s neck when he’s done with this, and frankly, Sylvain is pressing down on him in a way that makes Dimitri almost worried that he’s going to inadvertently suffocate Dimitri to death. 

But also: Sylvain’s thighs are trembling where they’re locked around Dimitri’s head, Sylvain’s mouth is spilling wanton and erotic, and Sylvain is warm and tight around Dimitri’s mouth, on top of Dimitri’s face. So Dimitri keeps thrusting his tongue in an irregular rhythm, as he reaches a hand down to grasp himself.

Sylvain rocks his hips down, grinding against Dimitri’s face, Dimitri’s mouth. 

“Harder,” he hisses, and Dimitri hurries to oblige, pressing his tongue in more, shoving up and into Sylvain’s walls. He closes his mouth around Sylvain’s entrance, and sucks. 

Sylvain is very vocal with his appreciation. He moans, long and noisy, as the bucking of his hips get more violent. Dimly, Dimitri registers that Sylvain should really, really shut his mouth and be quiet, but the rational part of Dimitri’s brain has long since bid him farewell, so all it serves to do is make Dimitri’s own hand on himself speed up. 

“Fuck yes, yes, yes,  _ yes,  _ you’re perfect,  _ Dimitri,” _ Sylvain’s babbling shoots straight down to Dimitri’s dick, and Dimitri swallows thickly. He’s leaking everywhere, and he’s so close, just a little bit more and-

Sylvain cums first. He clenches around Dimitri as he groans out his completion, his hips stuttering. It’s this that makes Dimitri pick up the pace — the ecstasy in Sylvain’s voice, the mumbling adoration as he sings Dimitri’s praises — and it doesn’t take long before Dimitri is spilling all over himself, as well.

Sylvain rolls off of Dimitri, his legs visibling trembling, and Dimitri takes this blessed opportunity to breathe in deep, sucking in desperate gasps of air. He feels overheated, his face burning, dizzy with exertion and still riding out the aftershocks. 

Sylvain, clearly, has far more experience recovering. He rolls back over, his side pressing against Dimitri’s and a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Feeling better now, Your Highness?” he asks cheekily. Dimitri allows himself another moment to recover, before answering flatly. 

“The least you can do after all of that,” he says, “is call me by my name.”

Sylvain looks at him, his smile slipping away in lieu of an unreadable expression, for a few long seconds. There’s an itch slowly developing under Dimitri’s skin at the calculation of the look, and he’s ready to open his mouth and call it all off, when Sylvain finally decides to speak.

“Fair enough,” he says, carefully, slowly. “Dimitri.”

Dimitri shivers. And then Sylvain's lips are tugging back into that pleased grin, again, and suddenly, Dimitri is wondering if this is actually a terrible idea after all. 

Well, it is Sylvain, to be fair. Dimitri isn’t quite sure what he expected anyway.    
  


(When they sneak out to take another, much needed bath, Dimitri makes sure to ignore the way Felix pokes his head out of the tent next to them, glaring in their direction. Or how Ashe, the one on the current watch duty shift, blushes a bright red and refuses to meet their eyes. His legs are conspicuously folded, his hands placed in just the right position to hide himself. 

Sylvain doesn’t extend that same courtesy, though. He leers at Ashe, and makes a crude gesture with his mouth and his hand — an  _ invitation,  _ really, and then Dimitri is forcibly dragging him away, his face burning hot. The archer, for his part, is sputtering and stammering behind them, while Sylvain just cackles.

Damn Sylvain.)

**Author's Note:**

> heyo i’ve recently started using twitter again so if you want, just hmu anytime @areseliph
> 
> i do try to keep it mostly sfw tho lol


End file.
